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Updated: June 19, 2025
He seized the doughty champion by the feet just as he was disappearing in the tunnel, and hauled him out. "What in thunder All right, you go first, then. Quick! as more screams rent the still air. "Don't be a fool. You've been interruptin' the weddin' ceremonies." Muckluck had caught up with them, and Yagorsha was advancing leisurely across the snow.
"I've been ready this half-hour hangin' about waitin' for you. That devil Joe," he went on, lowering his voice as he came up and speaking hurriedly, "has been trying to drag Yagorsha's girl into his ighloo. They've just had a fight out yonder on the ice. I got her away, but not before he'd thrown her down and given her a bloody face. We ought to tell old Yagorsha, hey?" Muckluck chuckled.
"Yagorsha!" he shouted again, and then, with a jerk to free himself from Muckluck, the Boy turned sharply towards the ighloo, seeming in a bewildered way to be, himself, about to transact this paternal business for the cowardly old loafer. But Muckluck clung to his arm, laughing. "Yagorsha know. Joe give him nice mitts sealskin new mitts." "Hear that, Colonel?
He turned to the Boy, and they went on together, preceding the others, a little, on the way down the trail towards the river. "I think you must come and see us at Holy Cross eh? Come soon;" and then, without waiting for an answer: "The Indians think these flitting lights are the souls of the dead at play. But Yagorsha says that long ago a great chief lived in the North who was a mighty hunter.
"Ol' Chief's father, Glovotsky, him Russian," Yagorsha began again, laying down his sinew-thread a moment and accepting some of the Colonel's tobacco. "I didn't know you had any white blood in you," interrupted the Colonel, offering his pouch to Nicholas. "I might have suspected Muckluck " "Heap got Russian blood," interrupted Joe.
"But Nicholas knows more about the native life and legends than anyone I ever met, except, of course, Yagorsha." "Who's Yag ?" began the Boy. "Oh, that's the Village Story-teller." He was about to speak of something else, but, lifting his eyes, he caught Mac's sudden glance of grudging attention. The priest looked away, and went on: "There's a story-teller in every settlement.
As the Boy, with an exclamation of "Well, I give it up," walked slowly across the slope after the Colonel and Yagorsha, Muckluck lingered at his side. "In your country when girl marry she no scream?" "Well, no; not usually, I believe." "She go quiet? Like like she want " Muckluck stood still with astonishment and outraged modesty. "They agree," he answered irritably.
In the pause that fell thereafter, Yagorsha, imperturbable, the only one who had not laughed, smoothed his lank, iron-gray locks down on either side of his wide face, and went on renewing the sinew open-work in his snow-shoe. "When Ol' Chief's father die " All the Pymeuts chuckled afresh. The Boy listened eagerly.
The Boy slept that night in the Kachime beside a very moody, restless host. Yagorsha dispensed with the formality of going to bed, and seemed bent on doing what he could to keep other people awake. He sat monologuing under the seal lamp till the Boy longed to throw the dish of smouldering oil at his head.
No doubt Muckluck is on the river-bank at Pymeut; the one-eyed Prince, the story-teller Yagorsha, even Ol' Chief no one will be indoors to-day. Sitting there together, they saw the last stand made by the ice, and shared that moment when the final barrier, somewhere far below, gave way with boom and thunder.
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